


Tea, Perhaps Sympathy

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:01:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluff Friday Prompt by Ciana23 on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea, Perhaps Sympathy

If there was one good thing to be said about the Gallows, it would be that the library was second to none. The scenery left a lot to be desired; stone walls and barred windows did not make for a relaxing atmosphere, but in the library the bookshelves were so high on the walls that Bethany could pretend that the windows weren’t covered in thick, black iron. It was warm too, and after hearing horror stories of drafty, moldy Kinloch Hold, Bethany was thankful for at least that.

She spent most of her time in that library, paging through books on elemental magic until she’d read them all, then turning to books on healing magic and spirit healing, remembering, with a fond sense of loss, helping Anders prepare poultices before the Templars came for her. She missed that. She missed a lot of things. Her family, especially, though she still saw her brother now and then, when the title “Champion of Kirkwall” was enough to convince the Templars that he actually ought to be let in, which wasn’t very often. But there was no bringing back Carver, or her mother, and a visit from Garrett every few months wasn’t going to change that.

Even worse, the other mages were cold to her; she entered the circle to find a firmly entrenched social structure, where mages were grouped up based on their home countries, specializations, or even things as superficial as preference in robes. There were few Fereldan mages in the Gallows, and they, like most everyone in the circle, treated Bethany with a certain standoffishness. She quickly got used to spending long hours in the library, sitting at one of the hard mahogany tables, reading until her eyes were strained and her neck was cramped. But it was the closest thing to privacy that she got, and it was good enough.

In the middle of a dry but highly informative chapter on the benefits of magical healing versus traditional forms using elfroot and hensbane, Bethany lifted her head to see Knight-Captain Cullen set down a saucer with a tea cup and a biscuit balanced on it.

“I’d rather you not give me special treatment because of my brother; the apprentices already treat me like I’m some kind of interloper, I don’t need them thinking I have the Templar’s favor on top of everything else.” Bethany knew how bitter she sounded, and realized that she no longer cared. She would have, six years ago.

“I was informed that you missed dinner again,” said Cullen, his voice less stern than usual. “I know that it’s difficult to get used to, but you shouldn’t neglect your basic needs.”

Bethany sighed and closed the book after saving her place with the long red ribbon sewed into the binding. “Thank you, I suppose.”

With no small amount of jostling and clanking, Cullen pulled out a chair and sat near her, the expression on his face difficult to read. “The others aren’t mistreating you, are they?”

“What?” Bethany raised a brow at him as she picked up the teacup, realizing that she was hungry as her stomach began to growl at the scent of the tea. “Only if you consider whispers behind my back and pointed looks to be mistreatment.” She put the cup to her lips, noticing with surprise that it was perfect, one sugar and a dash of milk, not too much. Even Garrett forgot how she liked her tea. “Thank you, for the tea, I mean. You don’t know what it’s like in here for a mage, the Templars are always watching.” She could have sworn that an apologetic look crossed his face then, a sad smile, something deep and painful.

“It’s necessary, though sometimes I wish it weren’t.” A clock chimed in the distance and Cullen glanced in its direction, listening. “Have you had trouble with any particular Templars? I keep an eye on them, but I have been spread thin as of late. The Knight-Commander—”

“Is mad,” Bethany said, snapping the biscuit in half and dipping it into her tea.

“Is under a lot of strain, and it is taking its toll.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

This time, Cullen’s smile was shy, like a young boy on a playground, tugging pigtails and pouting when the little girls cried. “Your brother is a good man; I have no doubt that trait is one that is shared by every Hawke.” He got to his feet, adjusting his gauntlet absently. “Just, come to me if…”

“Of course, Knight-Captain,” Bethany said, inclining her head politely as he walked away. She finished her tea in silence, staring at the leaves that remained when she was done. 

When she turned the cup just so, they looked like a bird in flight.


End file.
